British Valentine's Day Cards
by HazelHibiscus
Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth... That is a sentiment Arthur understands better than most, as he struggles to get his oldest friend to see him as anything other than her big brother. England x fem!America


I AM NOT DEAD! I literally started this story 6 months ago to the day... Total fail on my part, but at least all you guys get a good story even with my procrastination!

Warnings: **slight Russia x fem!America, eventual England x fem!America**; talk of heterosexual sex (weird for me...) but nothing even close to graphic (we're talking _maybe_ a half dozen kisses); cursing! I curse a lot in my daily life, and that normally bleeds into my stories

Disclaimers: Obviously not my characters. I got the idea from an article on BuzzFeed that I saw around Valentine's Day. Here's the link if you take out the two spaces and two brackets: www .buzzfeed[.com]/robinedds /emotionally-repressed-valentines-cards-for-british-people

For all ye who are concerned, I've got more things in the works, so you'll hear from me eventually! Reviews are love, people! I'm more than a little vain and enjoy having my ego stroked :D (criticism while not as desirable is of course welcome)

~Hazel

* * *

Card #4

_Today's the day; I'm finally going to tell Amelia how I feel_, Arthur thought, standing on his best friend's doorstep. He clutched a bright red tulip –the color of Amelia's lipstick- in his sweating hand. The Brit had loved her for a long time. If he were truly honest with himself (which he was never since comforting lies were always easier than the bitter truth.), he would say he had felt many different shades of love for her since they met thirteen years ago. He's thirty now, and she's twenty-seven.

Arthur was a junior forced to tutor the younger highschoolers as part of a punishment. He occasionally regretting spray painting the gym's wall, which landed in trouble, but the expression on that fat coach's face was just too excellent. And Amelia was a freshman that couldn't pass English. 9th grade was the year of the infamous 'grammar hammer' that failed everyone who didn't have a strong grip on the ins and outs of the English language. Sadly (or perhaps luckily) Amelia's grasp on grammar was tenuous at best, and Arthur was a published author of both poetry and prose before sixteen.

During all his months of tutoring, nobody needed Arthur's help quite like Amelia. Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays, she'd show up in the library, and he'd try to explain that _Goddammit Amelia! You can't just put a comma there because you bloody feel like it!_ and _What the hell! That is not a sentence!_

At first, Amelia pissed Arthur off like nobody else he knew even Francis wasn't as bad. But she has some sort of insistent charm that works on you no matter how many walls you put up to keep people out, and you end up loving her and wanting nothing more than to protect her. By springtime, they were attached at the hip, and for years, Arthur called her his little sister and was the best big brother he could be. (Far better than his own siblings that left him to fend for himself as a scrawny bookworm in the cruel hallways of a football-crazed high school.)

For a long time, Arthur was completely oblivious to Amelia's growing up; all he saw was the boyish girl he took under his wing. He was well aware of the effects of her maturing, her growing breasts, long legs, and curvy hips. Every time he went back home to see her or visited her university, he'd chase her current boy-toy away; sometimes he and her much older brother would work together to scare the worst boys away. And yet, Arthur couldn't still _see_ her; his image of her was stuck on the curveless form of her fourteen year old body. His love for Amelia firmly stayed within the realm of protective older brother until she got royally smashed on her 25th birthday, and Arthur had to drag an embarrassing lecherous Amelia home who couldn't keep her hands off anybody. To thank him for bringing her home, Amelia stroked his cheek and kissed him, swiping her tongue against his teeth. Wiggling her fingers in a wave, Amelia stumbled into her house, shutting her door in the face of a stunned Arthur.

From then on, Arthur could hardly wrap a protective arm around her shoulders or watch her speak without feeling of her lips on his.

Arthur stopped hesitantly at her gate, part of her all-American white picket fence. Amelia was the most patriot people he knew. She wore an eagle printed shirt and lit fireworks every 4th of July, and when she walked down the street, she thanked every service member she saw. (Her brother was in the air force, and she wished she were born a boy, so she could join the proud military tradition carried by her family since the first time her ancestors' boots touched the soil of this continent.)

The door opened the moment Arthur stepped on the welcome mat. _Fuck, she must have seen me standing awkwardly at the gate._ He almost couldn't speak, he was so enthralled by her bright blue eyes and wild blonde curls. He started to talk:

"I, god, well, I…" –a light twinkled in her eyes, like she thinks his coming confession is some big joke, but it's not. Life and death for someone like him.

"I mean, obviously…" –no it wasn't obvious. Her expression was confused; mouth twisted in her grin of incomprehension.

"You know, there's a sense of…" –annoyance flickered across her face. No, she doesn't know and hates him bringing up her inability to read the atmosphere. They fight about it all the time.

"Maybe…" _No, no! This isn't going to work. Abort! Abort!_

"No, silly, daft of me." He shoved the ruby tulip towards her, and she grasped it, holding the stem in two fingers and warily glancing at the flower. Perplexity still twisted her beautiful features.

"Forget I said anything," he said quickly, backing off the porch and down the steps. Head bent down and hands clasped behind his back, he imagined he looked like a lowly knight, bowing at Queen Guinevere.

_I will try again, _Arthur thought, his cheeks a burning red, as he walked away. _ I will! She will be mine._ He hopped into his car a block down (he parked away from her house so she couldn't see how long he sat in the car building up the courage) and banged on the steering wheel with his palms._ I lo- I lov- like her._

* * *

Card #3

Her laughter is like bells, which for some reason is generally considered positive comparison to make. For Arthur, bells don't inspire thoughts of light, feminine tinkling. He thinks of cacophonous church bells early on Sunday morning, which wake you up from a well-deserved rest and heap guilt upon your shoulders over missing service for the fifth week in a row. He thinks of the jingle of bells piercing the gelid air of sleigh rides in the dead of winter when he's miserable, frozen to the bone because his older brothers and sister took all the blankets.

Amelia's laugh is loud, almost jarring and yet so full of joy that Arthur can't help but smile with her. But this time he's not laughing along, if anything, Arthur's just a bit hurt, though he'd never say it aloud.

The frog –Francis- told Arthur to be blunt with Amelia because no amount of subtlety works with that girl. Arthur called him an idiot. But maybe Arthur's taking his advice because maybe he's a little desperate; no need to tell Francis that.

"I'm not being funny," Arthur snapped, but Amelia just laughed harder. "I'd quite like to have sex with you."

"Un-huh. Sure," she said, giggling. Her eyes sparkled with mirth, as she clapped Arthur on the shoulder. He thought he disguised his near tumble off her couch pretty well.

"Seriously!"

"Yeah right. Even if you did, which I know you don't because you still call me your sister, you wouldn't say anything because Ivan would literally rip your head off. Like, dude, I've seen him punch guy's faces in for hitting on me, and their noses are totally messed up for like ever. It's kinda hot, you know."

How could Arthur forget the big, Russian block keeping him from his beloved? But he's weighed the risks, and fuck it, he doesn't care that Braginski is bigger and stronger than he is because that lug isn't worthy of Amelia. That's not to say Arthur is, but he likes to think he's at least a touch better. She deserves a king, and Arthur's definitely not that, but he might be enough. He hopes.

_First step to wining Amelia: get rid of menacing boyfriend._ Or just crush down his feelings. Yeah, that might work.

* * *

Card #8

Apparently crushing down one's feelings doesn't work too well. Finishing off his last beer, Arthur flopped across the bar, huffing. His entire face flushed a ruddy red. As the bartender cleaned glasses, she gave Arthur a sad look. He was a regular, and as much as she loved the business, he drowned his sorrows in her liquor too often.

The door's bell rang, and the bartender looked up and nodded at the girl in the doorway scanning the bar. She doesn't know her name, but Arthur seemed to like her, and she always managed to remove him from the premises without too much of a fuss.

Amelia plopped down next to Arthur at the bar, tugging her fingers through her thick curls. "Artie, why did I have to get another call from Francis to get you? Is something wrong?"

"Dunno," he replied, his cheek against the bar muffled his words. He drew designs on the wood top in the condensation left behind by cold beer glasses. When Arthur was upset, he didn't drink shots of hard liquor in rapid succession to forget his troubles; rather, he drank slowly, wallowing in his misery. "I'd like to tell you how I feel, but I'm not drunk enough." Amelia could barely catch his faint words.

She sighed, knowing that his admission of having feelings was the closest she'd get to hearing about his problems.

"Come on, let's go." Amelia pulled Arthur to his feet and dragged him out the door.

* * *

Card #6

Arthur jerked awake when a series of thudding knocking shook his apartment. He staggered out of bed on sleep-heavy legs, leaning on his walls for support until his limbs woke up.

Grumbling under his breath about the audacity of some people to show up unannounced at 7 in the morning on a Saturday, Arthur threw open the door, shocked to see Amelia on his doorstep. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she clutched a now bent box of PG Tips in her hand.

"Nice pants," she said. Arthur looked down and cursed. Why in God's name did he wear his unicorn pajama pants to bed last night?

"Are you coming in or not?" he snapped, turning on his heel and walking towards his kitchen with more haughtiness than a man clad in childishly patterned pants should have.

Snickering, she followed him into the kitchen, putting the tea down. She nudged him in the direction of the kettle.

"Bloody hell no," he said, sitting down at the small table. "If you come into my home at this detestable hour, you will make the tea."

Rolling her eyes, she bustled around, finding the mugs, milk, and sugar while she waited for the water to boil and then for the tea to steep. He fell half to sleep again, elbow on the table and head propped up in his hand.

Amelia set his steaming tea with a touch of milk and no sugar down next to him and patted him on the cheek to wake him up. With a jerk, he awoke for a second time.

Arthur sipped his tea patiently, waiting for Amelia to say why she was here so early. As much as he hated getting up in the morning, she was far worse. Unlike her, he could wake up before noon without cussing out whoever woke him up. If he asked what was so obviously wrong, he would appear to care a great deal, and while he did care, he'd be too uncomfortable with demonstrating it so clearly.

"So…" she started, swirling her teacup round and round, making the liquid rise to the edges. "Ivan and I are over. Said I was getting too old to date and not good enough to marry."

An angry flush darkened his face. How dare someone say Amelia was lacking! In an daring and uncharacteristic display of affection, Arthur reached across the table and took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together.

"Well, love, at least you make tea properly."

And Amelia smiled, blue eyes rimmed with red flashing brightly.

* * *

Card #5

Arthur was Amelia's designated horror-movie-watching partner. When he watched _the_ _Exorcist_ with her in their senior and softmore years of high school respectively, she discovered just how perfect Arthur was. For all his faults, of which there were many, he was the first person who didn't make fun of her for screeching at a painful decibel and allowed her to cling to him, burying her face into his chest. He just sighed and patted her shoulder, telling her that "there's nothing to fear," and after a long pause, he added, "I'm here."

Although over a decade had passed since the first horror movie they watched together, Arthur remained the person Amelia came to when she wanted to watch one of these delightfully torturous films.

They also watched romantic chick flicks together. On the surface, this situation seemed to be another case of Arthur suffering through movies he didn't want to see for Amelia's sake, but in actuality, while Amelia does enjoy a good chick flick, Arthur's the one with the obsession.

Tonight's selection was _Love Actually_, their favorite; although, Amelia resented the fact that most Americans in the movie were total creepers or sluts.

As the movie went on, they scooted closer together; both tried to be discreet about it –Amelia because she didn't want to scare Arthur off and Arthur because he was embarrassed- but failed miserably.

When they couldn't possibly sit any closer, Amelia dropped her head onto Arthur's shoulder and sighed. "Why can't someone love me like that?" she asked, gesturing at the scene between Jamie and Aurélia.

"I love you," Arthur said before his brain could catch up to his mouth. Amelia looked up sharply, searching for the validity of what he said. Blushing, he quickly added, "in a way."

Disappointed, Amelia huffed quietly and went back to watching the movie. Arthur tentatively took her hand in his, her dismay melted away. She only glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to startle him and send their relationship careening backwards into the realm of close friends.

* * *

Card #10

"So, what exactly are we?" Amelia asked, as she stirred the spoon in her overly sweet tea.

Arthur stilled, ceasing his sawing at his burnt scones with a steak knife. _Good question_, he thought. This was their fourth morning after in two weeks. Sixth if one included the two that didn't have events resembling dates the night before. Thoughts about the night before inevitably lead Arthur's mind down the gutter, remembering how good Amelia looked with her curls stuck to her forehead and her irises thin, blue rings surrounding a sea of black.

"Arthur!" she said sharply, and he winced; she never sounds sharp. Her anger was liquid fire that blanked over and destroyed everything, not deadly needles that were focused and to the point. "What the fuck are we? I don't want to go wasting my time on something that's never going to last even though I want it more than anything else."

"Amelia-" Arthur tried to interrupt, hands shaking in fear. _Oh god, I just got her don't let me lose her. Please I'll do anything, but she has to be mine._

"I'm not getting younger here, and you know my biological clock isn't going to wait forever-"

"Please don't make me say it," he whispered, and her tirade stopped.

"Say what?" Her voice was low, dangerous. "Say you don't want me for anything but a casual fuck? Say that there is no way you could care about me in any romantic rather than sexual and long lasting way? Say that I'm ridiculous for even thinking I had-"

"Please."

"Fucking talk already," she snapped, fists bunched at her sides.

"Stay… I l-lov- care about you," he said to the burnt scone, his unwillingness to speak ringing clear in every syllable.

She combed her fingers through his bangs and gave them a tug that was unnecessarily hard. "This isn't going to be easy with you, is it?" Not when words and feelings choked him and made Arthur feel as though he had been thrown in a lake with no idea how to swim.

* * *

Card #9

Arthur smoothed down his sweater, as he glared at the bulge in his pocket. It was too obvious for even Amelia to miss. He switched the box from his right pant's pocket to the left, hoping that somehow the protrusion would magically disappear. Even in the middle of the switch, he knew the action was in vain. Luckily, he still had time to find another hiding spot since Amelia wouldn't be showing up at his apartment for at least another ten minutes. Technically speaking, their date was supposed to start five minutes ago, but she was always fifteen or more minutes late to everything.

_So where to hide this box…_ Arthur thought.

And the doorbell ringed.

_Okay, don't panic,_ he thought, as he headed to the door. _She's so unobservant that she'd probably not even notice if I stuck the box on a fishing line and bounced it in front of her face._

Arthur opened the door and before he could even kiss her in greeting, Amelia said, "I'd ask if you're happy to see me, but that bulge isn't in the right spot."

_Fuck, the one time she's actually paying attention._ Arthur visibly deflated. Looking embarrassed, he grabbed her arm and dragged her into the apartment.

"Hey now, Artie. Isn't it a bit early for the rough sex?" she teased.

"Amelia… we need to talk," Arthur said, pulling her down to sit with him on the couch.

"No fucking way; we are _not_ breaking up!" She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into the material of his shirt and biting his skin. "I won't let you!"

"What? No! That's not what I was getting at! It's… Well… We've reached the point where breaking up would just be too much hassle," Arthur said primly, and Amelia's grip relaxed. "Will you marry me?"

"Oh," she breathed, arms falling limply to the couch. "Not exactly the proposal I always imagined, but I'll take it!" Amelia stuck her hand down his pants, startling Arthur. She grabbed the ring box and flipped it open. "It's beautiful. I love you," she said, finger ghosting around the prominent diamond.

Arthur drew in a rattling breath, and Amelia looked up. _I love you_; he mouthed the words he was unable to say, and she smiled, thinking it would be enough.


End file.
